I brought up Wikipedia and read about Majorca’s long and interesting history. It was the largest of the Balearic Islands, and, like most of the land masses around the Mediterranean, had changed hands with each new power that rose to prominence. While it had been inhabited since 6000 BC by empires such as the Romans and Moors, it was the Spanish who made it into the happening place it was today. What did all this mean to me in my current predicament? Probably nothing, but at least I would have something interesting to talk about at our mysterious meeting.
I closed my laptop and set it aside before finishing up my morning quality time. Properly emptied, I stepped into the shower, and, ten minutes later, was dressed and heading out to the main salon for an actual breakfast. Everyone was already there, including Dick and Jane, and they were all sitting quietly, looking fairly uncomfortable. I assumed it was the whole hostage situation thing, but then it dawned on me as I looked around that the majority of the people at the table were hungover. Clearly, binge drinking after an extremely stressful night was a surefire way to guarantee a particularly quiet and painful morning.
“What’s for breakfast? Mimosas?” I joked, cheerfully.
No one laughed, and at least one person groaned. Oh well, I had at least tried to lighten the mood.
“We’ll be docking in Palma in less than an hour,” Billings said.
“Excellent, then you and Babs will go to your meeting and, after that, you’re both free to return to the Sozo,” Jane said.
I watched Jane closely, and, as far as I could tell, she appeared to be speaking truthfully. She was also a trained field agent and, therefore, a professional liar, which meant it was impossible to know anything for sure. Soon, however, my mind moved on to more pleasant thoughts when plates loaded with steaming hot stacks of ricotta pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs arrived at the table. As we all enjoyed breakfast, I noticed that Babs was looking particularly calm considering that he and I were about to be led off to some mysterious meeting. That fucker definitely knew something that he wasn’t telling the rest of us.
We finished breakfast, and Billings excused himself and raced off to the bridge to oversee our trip into the harbor at Palma. I joined him a few minutes later and enjoyed the view as we motored in and side tied between two other maxi yachts at the dock on the southwest end of the harbor. Ten minutes later the Sozo was properly secured, and we were ready to go ashore. I headed downstairs and found Corn, Lux, Dick, Jane, and the assault team quietly waiting. Corn looked at me and nodded, and I gave him a subtle nod in return.
“I’ll be back,” I said, in a German accent, which was a direct shout-out to Arnold Schwarzenegger’s famous line from the first Terminator movie.
Corn leaned in close and whispered good luck in my ear.
“All right then, a shore team will be joining us at the dock, and the assault team will stay aboard until the meeting is concluded,” Dick said.
Shit. So much for Corn’s plan. It looked as though no one was going to have much of a chance of escaping—least of all, me. I might just have to go through with this mysterious meeting, though I sincerely hoped it wouldn’t result in my premature demise, as I didn’t want breakfast to be my last meal. I’d much rather go out on a steak dinner and a couple of martinis.
All of us went out onto the deck and headed down the boarding stairs with Babs, Dick, and Jane only a step behind me as we reached the pier. There, we joined a team of four guys that looked a lot like Secret Service agents with their business suits, sunglasses, earpieces, and watchful demeanor. The lead man stepped forward to greet me.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Finn,” he said, holding out his hand to shake.
“Likewise, and you are?” I asked, as I took his hand and completed the gesture.
“Mr. Smith,” he said, with a smile.
“Of course you are.”
“Now, please follow me.”
He said please, which I took as a good sign as I joined him, Dick, Jane, Babs, and the rest of our entourage for the journey out to the street. There, Babs and I climbed into the back seat of one of three black Mercedes Maybach Pullman sedans idling at the curb. If I was riding off to my eventual demise, then at least I was going out in style. The Maybach was the pinnacle of luxury in automobiles with its fine German craftsmanship, upscale accoutrements, and baby soft beige leather seats that were the perfect blend of comfort and support. The car also smelled as though it had just come straight from the factory, and there wasn’t a single blemish or crumb to mar its elegance. I tapped the window and realized it was bulletproof glass, which meant this wasn’t your run of the mill transportation, but rather the choice of automobile favored by heads of state, celebrities, and the extremely wealthy. As I brought my attention back inside the car, I noticed that there was a small well-stocked bar in the center console. I would have liked a cocktail to steady my nerves, but it was only eleven in the morning, so I decided to abstain and keep my wits about me.
The large sedan pulled into traffic and headed east along the beach on Avinguda de Gabriel Roca. It was incredibly picturesque with its tree-lined oceanside sidewalk, and it resembled the Pacific Coast Highway where it ran through Santa Monica. Across the street, however, was a different story all together, and, instead of Los Angeles’s schlocky 1940’s architecture, the waterfront of Palma was a mixture of the last thousand years of history with the buildings reflecting both ancient and modern European styling as well as touches of its Moorish past. One minute I was gazing at the Cathedral of Palma with its Gothic architecture, the next it was the Arab baths or a contemporary apartment complex. Regardless of the era or the style, the majority of the city was painted in earthy pastel colors of light brown, pink, or white—a color scheme common to most of the cities that resided on the shores of the Mediterranean basin. All in all, it was a spectacular city, and one I seriously needed to visit under better circumstances if I survived the day.
About a half mile later, the road headed inland, but we merged to the right onto a small lane and stopped in front of a Tapas bar called Abacas. The surrounding area was strangely empty and devoid of activity, which was very different from the touristy places we had passed near the center of town. It was definitely filling me with a very real sense of foreboding, and I wasn’t looking forward to leaving the relative safety of the Maybach. The restaurant was also fairly close to the shoreline, which meant it would probably be unnecessarily pricey, so, hopefully, the owner of the car was paying for lunch.
“Here we are,” Mr. Smith said, cordially as he stepped out of the car and waited for Babs and me to exit.
We joined him on the sidewalk, and the Maybach pulled away, leaving me no alternative than to join Dick, Jane and the others as we fell in line behind Babs, who strutted as confidently as a peacock towards the entrance of the bar. He opened the door and held it for the rest of us, looking as though he owned the place. What a schmuck. I stepped inside and was surprised to see that it was actually crowded and wondered where these people had parked their cars. Perhaps Palma was a green community, and they had all biked, walked, or taken the bus. We rounded a corner, and entered the main bar, where, to my utter astonishment, I discovered that the waiters and waitresses were all topless. This was a fucking topless tapas bar, and, perhaps, Spain’s answer to Hooters. Up ahead, Babs led us past the kitchen and into a back room that was likely the manager’s office. Mr. Smith closed and locked the door then went to a shelving unit and pressed on a copy of Marcus Aurelius’s book Meditations—the result being that the shelving unit soundlessly slid open, revealing a stairway that led down to some kind of lower level.
Mr. Smith motioned for us to go first, and I followed Babs through the strange opening, the experience feeling as though I were Alice going down the rabbit hole, though mine, conveniently, had stairs. The passage appeared to descend at least a good twenty feet underground, and the only illumination came from light strips hidden beneath the carpeted steps. At the bottom, we emerged into a sort of anteroom, and the air w
as noticeably cooler and devoid of any restaurant smells, which meant that this place had a pretty sophisticated ventilation and filtration system. It was also nicely appointed, it’s dark green painted walls, plush leather sofas, Persian rugs, and stately oil paintings, making it look like one of those exclusive private gentleman’s clubs where old white men secretly decided the fate of the world. On the left and right side of the room were single doors, and if I had to guess, I’d say they were bathrooms. The far wall had double doors that likely went somewhere more important—though that designation could change depending on whether or not you had eaten an overly spicy lunch.
Mr. Smith motioned for us to follow him over to the double doors, where he proceeded to run his ID over a sensor on the right-hand side. The light on the lock turned from red to green, and we heard an audible click.
“They’re waiting for you,” he said, pointing at the door.
“Who might they be?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
I guess it was now or never. Just as he was turning to let us pass, I was able to spin him around and reach inside his sports coat and grab his pistol out of his shoulder holster. I continued with the same motion and brought my arm around his neck from behind and backed up to the wall keeping Mr. Smith in front of me as a human shield while I pointed the pistol at Dick and Jane.
“Sorry, guys, but I’d like to know who I’m meeting before I take another step. How do I know there’s not a firing squad or a pit full of deadly snakes on the other side of those doors?”
Jane stepped forward.
“Please, Finn, put down the weapon. I assure you that you’re not going to need it.”
“Says the woman who chased me across Europe.”
“We weren’t chasing you. We were protecting you.”
“Bullshit! Dick took a direct shot at me in Davos.”
“More like directly over you. I was aiming for the Tango behind you in the woods, so, believe me, if I had been meaning to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
“It’s true, Asshole. Dick and Jane are friends,” Babs added.
“Oh, so now you’re suddenly the guy who knows everything about everything again?”
“Yes, so you can put down the gun.”
I took a moment to think and realized there could be some logic to what they were all saying, but there was no way in hell I was giving up the gun just yet.
“OK, maybe that’s true, but I’d like to keep the gun for now.”
“Fine, as long as you go into that meeting.”
“You first,” I said, motioning towards the doors.
Jane opened both doors, and I followed her and the rest of our little entourage into the next room, which turned out to be rather large and imposing and looked more like a set piece from a James Bond movie. It was circular, at least fifty feet in diameter, and on one wall was a giant screen that was, at that moment, displaying a map of the world. On the opposite side of the room, was a curved glass topped table and sitting at it, facing the screen, sat nine people—five men and four women, and, to my utter astonishment, I recognized one of them immediately—though he was the last person in the world I ever expected to see slumming it in the posh secret basement of a topless tapas bar.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Homecoming
THE MAN I recognized stood up, and he was easily six foot two, handsome, and sporting a full head of grey hair. He started walking over to me, and, as he drew closer, I could see that one of his most striking features was his sparkling blue eyes, which seemed to glow with an otherworldly sense of calm and understanding. I had only ever seen him in pictures and on television, and I found him to be a bit intimidating in person—even more so when he arrived and stood directly in front of me.
“Mind if I see that?” he asked, gesturing at the gun in my hand.
“Not at all,” I said, handing it to him.
He smiled, pulled back the slide to chamber a round, then pointed it at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing happened, and he laughed.
“We figured you might pull something like this and took the precaution of having our immediate security empty all their weapons, though I should tell you that it’s our standard policy to never allow any firearms, loaded or otherwise, into our meetings.”
He put the gun down on the table and held out his hand.
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Mr. Finn.”
“Nice to meet you too, Senator Matheson.”
Before me stood John Matheson’s esteemed father, a man I knew a lot about but had never actually met in person.
“Call me Douglass, we keep it informal here. No titles.”
“In that case, you can call me Tag, but I prefer Finn.”
He smiled and looked at me earnestly as he placed his hand on my shoulder.
“I never had the opportunity to personally thank you for saving my son back in Afghanistan. What you did for me and my family, I will never forget.”
“No thank you is necessary. He was my friend, and a good guy, and I wouldn’t have cared if his father was a janitor.”
Matheson chuckled and gestured towards the table of people, the majority of whom looked oddly familiar.
“Come. Have a seat and I’ll introduce you to the rest of our little group here.”
Babs and I walked over and took a seat in two of four empty chairs, while Dick, Jane, and Mr. Smith went out through a side door. Matheson, meanwhile, walked over to the center of the table but remained standing.
“Finn, I’d like you to meet Harold Fuchs, Margaret Baines, Vladimir Strobodov, Charlene Chou, Adya Chopra, Nicholas Abimbola, Anna Karlsson, and Daniel Vandenberg. Of course, you already know Adrien Babineux.”
Jesus, they had two Americans, a German, a Brit, a Russian, a Chinese, an Indian, an African, a Swede, and a Frenchman. Throw in a Texan, and you had the beginning to a pretty good joke. At least the presence of a fucking Fuch finally explained how my two new friends Dick and Jane fit into the picture.
“Wait a minute. Did you say Daniel Vandenberg?”
“Yes, unfortunately his brother couldn’t be here today.”
Sweet Merlin’s nut sack! I assumed he was William Vandenberg, as Daniel was Williams’s identical twin brother as well as being Lux and Bridgette’s supposedly dearly departed father. This was a conspiracy theorists dream, and I was starting to wonder if perhaps Elvis and John F. Kennedy were also still alive and playing ping pong in the next room. This was hardly a conspiracy theory, however, as the dead man in question was sitting about ten feet away and eyeing me curiously.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
Matheson deferred to Daniel.
“Sometimes a man can accomplish more from behind the scenes. We now had two people to do the job of one, my brother taking care of the public face while I took care of our more private business. It was a perfect working relationship, and though I did sacrifice my public and personal life, it allowed me to focus on the company and, more importantly, our part in the Topless Agenda.”
I stifled a small chuckle.
“The Topless Agenda? Is that what you seriously call yourselves?”
He smiled.
“That’s the point. Who would ever imagine that something with such an innocuous name was changing the fate of the world? I must say that it did take us awhile before we finally agreed on one. It came down to Tapas Agenda or Topless Agenda, and we went with the latter because it just sounded funnier and would seem more ridiculous should anyone ever hear it,” Vandenberg said.
I could see his point, but it was still kind of a silly name for a group of people this far up the food chain. Their combined wealth probably rivaled the gross national product of the entire United States, considering their assets included oil, minerals, communications, technology, manufacturing, and pretty much everything else that generated a lot of money.
“This might seem a little small minded in respect to changing the fate of the world and all—but have
you ever thought about what your early departure did to your daughters?”
Daniel looked at me somberly.
“I have, unfortunately, but sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good,” he said, fidgeting with a small gold charm bracelet he wore on his right wrist.
It looked like the kind of thing a child might give a parent, and I wondered if perhaps it had been a gift from Lux or Bridgette. No sooner had I pondered that thought that Matheson cleared his throat to get my attention.
“Now, Finn, I’m sure this must all seem a little strange at the moment, but you should know that our ultimate intention with this group is to make the world a better, safer place for us, our children, and all the generations of people to come, and that brings us to why you have been invited to our little meeting today.”
“I’m a little bit confused here, because it seems to me that if Babs is part of your group, then doesn’t that mean you’re officially sponsoring terrorism. I don’t see a safer or better world for anyone in that scenario.”
Topless Agenda Page 38